


Barba

by rellkelltn87



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Drabble, Facial Hair, Multiship, Sandwiches, canoodling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rellkelltn87/pseuds/rellkelltn87
Summary: Three drabbles, three ships:Barba/BensonBarba/CarisiBarba/Sandwich
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr., Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson, Rafael Barba/Sandwich
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	1. Barson

“You really like the beard, hm?” Barba said, his voice and his whiskers vibrating against the skin of Benson’s jawline.

They’d finally shared that long-promised dinner, which turned into a two-hour conversation. Benson relished the return of the one friend who she didn’t have to apologize to when _she_ was overwhelmed. 

He let her talk out her grief. He was willing to give her all the time in the world.

Now they were on the couch, quietly sharing a thousand belated kisses. 

“I really like the man behind the beard,” she said, winding a hand around his suspenders, “but, yes.”


	2. Barisi

“What kept me warm this winter,” an exhausted-but-definitely-not-sleeping Barba said, laying an open hand on Carisi’s chest, “was —”

“The facial hair?” Carisi said with a smirk, petting Barba’s beard with the back of his hand. “Or the layers and layers of drugstore hair dye?”

“Watch it, or I’ll start in on the mustache again.”

“You _loved_ the mustache,” Carisi teased.

Barba let out a belly laugh accompanied by a wrinkle-nosed smile. “If I confess that I thought about your mustache once in the shower five years ago, will you let up on the beard?” 

Carisi grinned from ear to ear.


	3. Barba/Sandwich, the OTP

Barba left the office at 8, and walked into a blast of cold air that burned his face. New York wind tunnels had nothing on Iowa winters.

Two blocks from the elections board was a sandwich café, warm and full of promises for his growling belly. 

He could even overlook the café’s terrible pun of a name on account of his hunger.

In a corner booth by the window, he opened the menu and was heartened to find a sandwich called “El Juez.”

He enjoyed every bite, and for the first time in years, saw a future brimming with possibility.


End file.
